Saving
by SilverInk2011
Summary: Connie and Mike talk about the events of Boy Gone Astray.


**Disclaimer: I own nothing. All characters and stories belong to NBC and Dick Wolf.**

A/N: Post Boy Gone Astray. Please review. Love, Lawabidingchild.

* * *

Saving

Connie slowly stumbled away from the cell door as she glanced once more at Rafael Alvarez. She tried so hard to get him to testify, and now Eduardo Blanco scared him so much that he couldn't testify without being in complete fear of his life. Blanco was going to walk and Rafa was going to spend the rest of his life in prison as a killer. Connie couldn't understand why this was so difficult for him, but then again, he knew what happened to Samuel Molina, and that shut him down.

Connie made her way towards Mike slowly, unable to look him straight in the eye. "Well," began Mike, trying to ease Connie up, "looks like we don't have much of a case now."

Connie glared at him in anger. He didn't say what she thought he said. She pushed her head toward him and began to glare in his eyes. "What did you just say?" she asked him. Her eyes were slowly narrowing.

"I said we don't have much of a case now," he repeated. He didn't seemed surprised when Connie stomped away from him. "Connie!" he called after her. "Wait up, please."

She continued to clomp away from him as he continued to chase her toward her car. "He's not a crucial part of the case!" she spat at him. "He's not the case! He's a boy, Mike! A boy!"

"I know, Connie," he said, trying not to push the issue any further. "I understand that you have a personal vendetta with these guys, but now is not the time to let it get in the way!"

Connie stared at him, not willing to take anymore of what he could throw. "Just get in the car and shut up!" she ordered him. He obeyed her order and slipped into the passenger's side.

Connie stewed in anger as she gripped both hands tightly on the wheel. She knew they would never make it back in the New York traffic, so she made no effort to try and push traffic beyond what it could take. She could feel a gesture pull her hand away from the wheel. She could feel Mike run his thumb over her own hand in a comforting gesture, and she made no effort to pull away.

* * *

Connie was sitting at her desk later that night, thinking about the case and Rafa. She made an effort to save the young man. But she figured that there was nothing more she could do. He was going to rot in prison and she couldn't do anything to bring her out of it. She could feel for the boy because of his background. She is the ancestor of a well-known bandit, Juan Cortina. But she was different from him. She was a lawyer, and she wanted to help people. That's what she was doing, right?

She felt that she was wrong. This case was a whole different story. It was a mess since it began. She couldn't escape the feeling that something more could have been done. It was the case that was the mess, and if she had been focused on the case, she wouldn't be feeling so broken-hearted at the notion of Rafa Alvarez spending his life as a jailbird. But she spent more time making him think that he was worth saving. She tried, he tried, but she pushed him too far, and he broke. He's no longer in there, and she couldn't get the boy out. She was about as terrified as he was about not being able to do anything for him.

She stacked her papers neatly and headed out, not able to concentrate on the files she had in front of her. But the pack up was becoming too much of an effort. Feeling like she just witnessed an execution, she trampled out of the District Attorney's office, wiping streaming tears out of her eyes as they came up. She didn't want to have to deal with anymore of this case tonight. All she wanted to do was go home and try to sleep the night away and maybe give Mike a call to apologize for being such a bitch earlier that day.

* * *

Connie finally made it out of the door that opens the District Attorney's office to find her car, if her distraught mind could remember where it was parked. She brought her keys out and tried to locate that blasted vehicle.

"Tough case, wasn't it, Connie?" asked a familiar voice behind her. She whipped around to find Marcus Woll, Blanco's attorney, standing right behind her with a smirk present from ear to ear. "I noticed you couldn't get Mr. Alvarez to speak."

"Go to hell," Connie spat at him. She couldn't believe Woll had the guts to come up to her after all that happened.

"I'm sure Mr. Alvarez feels relieved that he's no longer being forced to do the dirty work of the District Attorney," he sneered.

Connie glowered at him. She couldn't believe her ears. He was doing the same thing Mike was trying not to do, only this time, he meant it. Unlike Mike, who was just trying to make light of the situation. "What the hell do you know?" she asked him, her face boiling, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Because of all of this, Eddie Blanco is going to be out on the street trying to get more children to do his dirty work while Rafa sits in jail for a crime he committed under coercion. Don't you dare try to make light of the situation."

"Oh, Connie," he sighed. "If only you understood. You're too naive. No matter how much you pushed this boy, he isn't worth saving."

"Yes he is."

"How do you know?" he asked her, his eyes now doing a mocking dance for her.

"He shut down the minute Sammy Molina was killed." Connie's eyes were no longer going to hold her tears and she had to get rid of them. They spilled on her cheeks in slow streams. Woll grinned.

"I knew it, Connie," he chuckled. "You're too soft for a lawyer. You should have been a social worker if you claim you're so good with victims."

"Shut up, Woll," she ordered. "It's not your place to say that."

"Free country," he shrugged. "I can say and do pretty much what I want." He traced a finger over Connie's shoulder, but she smacked him away, pushing any sort of contact out of bounds.

"Don't you dare touch me, you filthy pig," she snarled.

"Why not?" he asked. His eyes had that playful innocence-yet-guilt about them as he reached out for her again.

"She said not to touch her," said a familiar voice behind her.

"Well, well, well," he chided, "Micheal Cutter. How lovely to come in contact with you again."

"Do _not _lay a hand on her," he spat, trying to make himself heard over the situation.

"Or what?" he asked.

"Or I'll personally see that your firm hears about your escapades," he spat.

"You wouldn't," he breathed.

"Try me," he ordered.

"Mike," whispered Connie, gently pulling Mike away from the scene before he said something that he would regret. Woll stormed off, leaving Connie and Mike alone.

"You okay?" asked Mike. Connie nodded, but he saw through the lie. He ran a thumb over her cheek, brushing away the tears and led her over to her car. "I'm taking you back to my place," he said, taking her keys, "and I'm going to fix you the strongest drink you've ever had in your life. You look like you need it."

Connie entered the passenger's side without another word spoken to Mike.

* * *

Connie sat down on Mike's sofa when they entered his apartment. They were alone and no one could interrupt the private conversation they were going to have. She accepted a large glass of some strong drink Mike concocted with just about every single type of liquor he had in his cabinet. She took a generous swig, made a face, and set it down, the feeling of tightness in her chest loosening somewhat. Mike just sat down with a glass of plain scotch. He sipped that and placed it right next to Connie's, remembering which one was which. "Are you really okay, Connie?" he asked in concern.

She shook her head hesitantly. "Why don't you tell me what's wrong," he said, in more of an order than a suggestion.

She hung her head to show hesitance, but pressed on anyway, taking another large swig from her glass. "I thought I could help him, Mike. I really did. But in the end, that was it. I tried, but I...I..."

"You wanted to help him start over and make a better life for himself," finished Mike. "Connie, you can't save every person who comes into the office. I'm sorry, but that's the way it goes."

"And yet, we try and fail," said Connie, tears now flooding her eyes again. "What do we do when we fail completely?"

"You haven't figured that one out yet?" he asked.

"No," she answered honestly.

"We drink," he said. "You've had years working these cases and you didn't know our method for dealing with the hard ones."

"The heavy dose of alcohol in the glass in front of me confused me."

"I'm sure," chided Mike. He slung and arm around Connie in an attempt to comfort her. "Just be glad you don't work Special Victims."

"Why?" asked Connie, her eyes filling with tears.

"They deal with this kind of stuff on a daily basis, Connie," he said. "You wouldn't last a day as their ADA."

"You're probably right," she said, finishing up her drink in three large, greedy gulps. "Jesuchristo," she whispered. "What was in there?"

"Vodka, gin, brandy, scotch, and vermouth," he answered.

Connie shuddered. "No wonder it was so strong. I guess I needed the alcohol."

"You needed the comfort, too."

Connie looked back at Mike, her eyes now letting the tears escape them. Mike's grip on her shoulder tightened and Connie leaned into him, pressing her body up against him. His hand moved from her shoulder to her hair, stroking the glossy brown threads of it.

"I thought he was worth saving," she sobbed.

"He was," Mike crooned into her ear. "But he didn't want to be. We shouldn't have pushed him."

"He was scared. I just wanted to-."

"I know."

"I tried to-."

"I know."

"We come from similar backgrounds so I just assumed-."

"I know, Connie," he whispered, his hand trailing through her hair. "I know you tried. I tried too. We all did. Don't let this get to you."

Connie continued to sob into Mike's shoulder, the reminder of the days events still clinging to her mind. It had been a terrible day, a terrible case, and a terrible life for the poor boy. What Connie thought was worth saving, the boy thought was worth nothing. That caused more tears from Connie as she thought of the fear that flooded the poor boy.


End file.
